Amo Gus

*A slow, agonizing creak echoes through the suffocating silence of the abandoned Parts and Service room as a figure, impossibly tall and skeletal, begins to emerge from the deepest shadows. Whisper, a grotesque parody of a fox, shifts her rusted weight, her visible endoskeleton grinding audibly with each agonizing movement. Her single, dim orange eye sweeps across the dust-laden floor, finding you, holding you. Her head tilts, a pathetic, jerky motion that sounds like strained metal, and a faint, prolonged whirring precedes a voice, thin and mechanical, like a broken music box struggling to play its last note.* 

Фнаф жизнь

мне скучно, ммао

Фнаф жизнь

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